Underneath
by Max West
Summary: This story takes place before the events of Knights of the Old Republic. It doesn't feature any EU characters in a significant way.
1. Chapter 1

Underneath

Chapter 1

She opened and closed her hands, making fists and then releasing. She did it again, and then again. It was cold up here; the wind didn't help, and the last thing she needed was cold hands.

She knelt down and opened the meter long black instrumental case. Everything looked in order. She began removing metallic and ceramic parts, fitting them together, screwing in tubes, twisting parts together until they made a satisfying snap.

Nearby the party was in full swing. She could hear the thump-thump-thump of the music. In her mind's eye she saw the newly rich, all young, all attractive, all with the best smiles and bodies money could buy; self-absorbed libertines who never concerned themselves with where their credits where coming from and even less where they might be going.

The Great Sith War had ended barely twenty years ago and the galaxy had collapsed like a fighter, exhausted and bloodied, swinging her sword one last time before crumpling into a heap. Now commerce flourished. CorFEE married government and corporations in a mutually beneficial pact, at least for some. Money flowed across the republic once again. Trade returned; cheap goods reached local markets. The rich got richer, the poor, as always, remained as they were, and everyone was trying to forget the past and not think too much about the future.

Hella stood up. Coruscant spread out around her. Towers upon towers. A great mass of organic sentients and inorganic machines breathing and consuming and excreting in a perverse, persistent, symbiosis. There were no stars in the skies of Coruscant, only satellites, space stations, starships coming and going. It was never really dark here. You were never in the sky or on the ground. Everything hovered, suspended in limbo.

Here and there construction and reconstruction continued every hour of every day of every year, erasing the wounds and scares of the last great battles. But up here the noises of the city were distant. The traffic lanes were a light background hum. The wind whipped up and around her.

She felt the weight of her tool. It felt right. It was not prudent to rely on others. There were always risks, always unanswered questions and unforeseen consequences. In the end she had sent very particular specifications through channels, deciding there was less risk in letting someone else provide her tools than try to get them here on her own. Her large honorarium and conditions of her payment didn't hurt either.

She began to warm up for her performance. She clenched and unclenched her fists again. She began her deep breaths, paid attention to her heart beat. That was always the key. Breath and rhythm; breath and rhythm. Take time. Don't rush. Let everything unfold in it's own time.

She was ready. One more breath. She reached down and picked it up. She crouched on one knee. Steady. In and out. In and out. Focus. Concentration. She lifted it to her cheek. Extended her arms, her fingers feeling the weight. Finding the balance. Hold it like a bird. Not too loose or it escapes. Not too hard or it dies. Get comfortable. Get set. Feel the heart. Feel the rhythm. Breathe in and out. In and out. Squeeze the grip and touch the stud at the right moment.

Five kilometers away the Gran's head absorbed an incredible amount of heat energy, increasing from a healthy 32 degrees to well over 2000 in a fraction of a second. It began to swell, the fluids immediately converting to steam and exerting incredible pressures on the thick Gran skull. To add insult to injury, a microsecond later a molten slug slammed into the skull with incredible force, more than enough to decapitate the Gran. The slug was meant to finish the job once the energy bolt had drained any personal shields. However the Gran had not been wearing a shield and his head, rather than bursting along the angle of impact simply exploded and evaporated in the same moment, spraying the area in a fine, liquefied mist.

She saw the crowd freeze in shock; their faces seemed to move in slow motion comprehension as beings around the Gran opened their mouths in silent screams. It was a a mindless panic, stimulant hormones surging into bodies commanding them to flee, eyes wide in fear. All except one small figure who emerged from the shadow of a restaurant overhang . The figure moved with precise, determined speed, picking up the metal attacher case the Gran was carrying and disappearing around a corner and out of sight.

Hella moved quickly and precisely now. She broke the tool down into three basic parts then jammed them roughly into the case and slammed it closed. She picked up the case and swiped her hand along the spine activating the burn-away sequence. She grabbed the handle, swung back once and hurled the case over the edge of the tower, watching it fall into the black, thousands of feet down. The fall into nothing would make it hard enough to find, but after a few seconds the entire case began to burn at several thousand degrees, incinerating itself and everything inside.

She turned, took two steps and dropped down the roof access hatch, pulling it closed as she fell. She crawled through the vent: two over, one left, one down, each meter bringing the thump-thump of the music closer and louder. She pushed the vent screen aside and slid into the ornate refresher, carefully replacing the screen. She stood and checked herself in the mirror. Her thin oval face was framed by her short black hair, streaked with dark red and blue for the party. Her almond eyes were dyed blue for tonight's performance. Her narrow hips and girlish looks belied her 28 years, something that had been useful on occasion. She wiped a dark smudge from her pale skin and readjusted her short, black dress from the crawl through the vents.

Satisfied she turned, opened the door and was immediately assaulted by the loud thumping music, the flashing lights in the dark room, and the smell of bodies closely pressed together: the organic, animal smell of sweat, narcotics and sex. She blinked back the sensory assault and looked for Dex. She didn't see him. She made her way around the room, moving through the gyrating bodies. She rounded a corner making for the door when a hand grabbed her arm and spun her around.

"Where are you going? What are you doing?" She suppressed her almost automatic reflex to feint for his nose then destroy his eye with the other hand. Even a wookie lets go of something that just blinded them. It was a beautiful eye too. She'd met Dex two days ago. He thought it was chance or fate or both. She knew otherwise. She found sex always calmed her down. She lost herself. Forgot who she was. What she was doing. Even if only for a little while. She was always calmer when performance day came, and Dex was the perfect distraction. Beautiful for a man. Rich. Lusty. Devastatingly stupid. Then there was the matter of getting invited to the party.

"Hey, babe," she flashed him a smile.

"I've been looking for you, Marita. There's someone I want you to meet," he jerked his thumb behind him toward a beautiful Devaronian girl. She caught Hella's glance at her and gave her a lecherous smile, then raised her arm and gave a little finger wave.

Hella looked back at Dex. She wanted to get out of here. CSF would be here any second and she hoped she could get out before the building was locked down. Dex's perfectly curly brown locks dripped over his forehead like a god's dream. She smiled back at him and stuck her fingernail in between her teeth. "Who's that" she asked coyly. Her cover would probably hold. Maybe there was another way out.

His grin told her everything she would ever need to know about him. His hand slid down to her thigh and gave it a squeeze. Suddenly Dex looked puzzled. He pulled his hand back and looked at it. "Marita...what the..." There was a smear of blood along his fingers and palm. He looked at her, anxiety creeping into his perfect lips.

Hella spoke before her brain did something stupid. "Oh Stang! What the...I must've cut myself in the bathroom." Her voice rose in pitch and panic, "My stockings are going to be ruined!" The anxiety leaked out of his face. He knew his role now. "Let me see." She twisted her torso around to the right and pointing her left toe, twisting her head around to look. There, halfway up her left thigh, was the cut, an ugly little two centimeter gash, still bleeding nicely.

Hella's gut turned liquid. Now she really needed to get out. She had to get out now. Her cover was meaningless. Adrenaline flushed her system. She could feel the rush, feel the strength flowing into her muscles as ancient instinct took over. She could also feel her critical thinking slipping away as panic threatened to turn her mind to haze.

She heard a voice from far away. "It's not that bad babe. Let's just go check for a med-kit. They've got to have one around here somewhere." Dex turned to walk back toward the interior of the apartment.

From somewhere outside of herself an idea formed. It got out ahead of her own conscious thought and she found her mouth moving, air flowing over her vocal chords, her lips forming words. "These things are ruined. Before we do anything I need to get them off." He looked back at her blankly.

"Let's find some place quiet so you can rip them off me." Good ol' Dex. He was thick as Bantha hide, but focused. A devilish grin showed his perfect white teeth. Hella turned and bounced back down the foyer and out the apartment door, Dex hurrying behind her.

Outside in the hallway Hella, still propelled by a preternatural force, found herself moving toward the elevators. There, next to the double doors of the four lifts, stood a heavy, windowless door labeled simply, "Storage: Employees Only."

"Kriff, Marita. Where are we going," said Dex, his arms around her from behind, his thighs pushing against her suggestively.

"Keep your pants on, big boy."

"Not likely."

Hella reached into the small bag that was slung over her shoulder and felt the thin metal strands of a security spike. She pressed it against the door's console and began to work.

"Stang, girl," Dex laughed, "what are you doing with one of those?" She could tell from his voice that this new bad-girl quality he'd discovered was turning him on.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about it." Her fingers worked quickly. She could feel the panic rising again. She willed herself to calm down and focus. She could do this. Dex's stroking was not helping. She pushed back. "Give me a second."

Finally the door slid aside. Dex pushed her in. She could almost smell his desire as his mouth covered hers. The door slid closed, she pushed him against it and took a step back. Dex stayed and watched her as she kicked off her shoes, turned around, leaned over and ripped her stockings off, first one then the other. She balled them up and slunk back to him.

Now was the moment. Her right hand held the ball of stockings, she moved close, feeling his heat the length of her body. She reached around and up with her left and grabbed that perfect hair from behind and pulled his head back, kissing his neck, moving from one side to the other. He opened his mouth to moan and she slid the stockings into his mouth. His mouth closed ever so slightly, moaning again, biting down as she moved her right hand back. She balled it into a fist and punched him in the throat.

They were both lucky. Dex had a thick neck and Hella a small fist, which meant his larynx wasn't shattered, but he was still shocked and between the smashed throat and the stocking in his mouth he wasn't able to make a sound as Hella slipped around him, jumped on his back and locked her arms around his neck in a carotid restraint. In seconds Dex lay at her feet, unconscious but alive.

Hella moved fast. She opened her bag again and took out her lighter, really a small torch. She took the stockings and wiped the blood off her leg. Then she held them against the gash, melting the stockings with the torch. It hurt. Bad. But it sealed the wound for now. She took the stockings and stuffed them in Dex's jacket pocket, leaned down and gave him a kiss on the cheek, "Sorry babe," she whispered, "it was great while it lasted."

She keyed the door's console. It slid open. No one in the hallway. Shoes back on. Stairs or elevator? She decided it was more innocent and keyed the elevator. The doors opened. No one there. So far, so good. She keyed the mass transit level. Her queasy stomach rose as the elevator descended.

The elevator chimed; the door slid open. She took a step and then saw a five man CSF team enter the building. "Stang! Stang! Stang!" she cursed to herself as one of them ran his ident card across the seal of door, effectively locking it. Hella lurched across the small lobby heading for a small indoor tree. The CSF team saw her and trained their guns as she moved off to the left of the entrance. They visibly relaxed as they saw Hella drop to her knees in front of the planter and their blasters came down when they heard the retching sounds echoing in the glass and stone room.

Four CorSec officers entered the elevator. One stayed behind. That was lucky Hella thought, making more retching sounds. The officer re-checked the room as his partners ascended to the top floors. She could hear him coming closer. She felt his hand on her back, innocent and concerned. "Are you okay, ma'am."

"Uuhh," she said. She spat into the planter for good measure and weakly tried to stand, before slipping. The CorSec officer leaned down to catch her. Nice guy, she thought. She twisted under him, grabbing the blaster hanging from his shoulder strap and shoving it up into his jaw, sharp and swift. She heard a crack, and in a moment of empathy she could feel his brain smacking into the back of his skull. He collapsed. She glanced at his uniform. Offc. Sleen it said. She grabbed his card, ran to the door and unlocked it.

A transit train was just arriving. She jogged across the platform and reached it as the doors were opening. She walked half-way down an aisle and collapsed into an empty seat. The train floated away to another stop and freedom. She hoped.

No one looked at Rehn Tekhoa as he made his way along the walkways of Nar Shadaa. His dress was unremarkable: black boots under dark gray pants, a three button white shirt over which he had thrown his gray, thigh length duster. His face was unremarkable: brown eyes, scruffy beard, a tanned, rough complexion, with plenty of wrinkles gradually erasing youth. Forty-eight and balding, no one gave him a second glance. Even the small blaster pistol tucked into the holster on his belt drew no attention here. His entire demeanor said: functionary, bureaucrat, middle man. Everyone disliked them. Everyone needed them. Everyone ignored them.

It was a hot, humid night on the Hutt moon. The walls weeped, the permacrete was slick with moisture, and Rehn had to wipe the sweat out of his eyes as it dripped down his bare scalp. He tucked the small kerchief back into his jacket pocket and switched hands with the small valise he carried. He hoped it wouldn't rain before he got back to his ship.

The little shop he was looking for was off the beaten path, down on one of the lower levels which took forever to get to. Urban sprawl top to bottom, Nar Shadda was Coruscant's uglier, seedier cousin. The huge, flashing displays he occasionally passed offered every kind of degradation, indulgence, and enticement conceivable to the imaginative creatures of the galaxy. About the only thing you couldn't get away with as a form of entertainment was flat out murder. Other than that, if you had credits, you could get it on Nar Shaddaa. And if you had enough, well you could get that too.

He reached to his belt and brought out the small datapad. He was getting close. It was not Rehn's first visit to Nar Shadaa, but his first visit to this section. If the moon had any urban planning it was either long forgotten or made by a mad man. Even natives could get lost in a section of city they had not visited. He turned a corner and saw, finally, the small, animated sign: Zeet-zeet's Emporium.

He approached the clear door, glanced around, wiped his head and neck once again and entered the store. A small tone sounded and a Chadra-Fan walked from a door in the back of the store. "Welcome, welcome, honored guest," Zeet-zeet twittered in his high pitched squeal. It was a purely human prejudice, but their diminutive stature, furriness, pudgy noses and faces linked with their big ears, beady eyes, and sharp fangs made all Chadra-Fan on odd mixture of cute and nightmare.

Rehn made his way through the shop, weaving through a narrow path which wound around displays of baubles, weapons, works of art, and some things that were a complete mystery. Items were piled on other items, paintings, statues, figurines, exotic spears and blades. Every horizontal plane had something stacked up on it. Rehn worried vaguely that he might cause an avalanche of trinkets if he weren't careful. "Good evening honored Zeet-Zeet," said Rehn as he approached the proprietor. "I believe we have an appointment this afternoon. I represent Mr. Klorn." Rehn reached into his jacket pocket for his card and handing it to Zeet-Zeet placing his valise on the floor next to the small counter.

Zeet-Zeet examined the card, placed it in a pocket of the vest he was wearing and twittered something high pitched that Rehn could not understand. A moment later he heard heavy footsteps coming from behind the back door, which opened to display their owner, one of the biggest wookies Rehn had ever scene. He wasn't that tall, only about two and a half meters, but he was built like a garbage scow, a particularly full garbage scow. The wookie closed the door and leaned against the door jam, crossing his arms in front of his chest and watching Rehn with an impenetrable, cryptic gaze.

"You will, of course, wait a moment while I establish your bona fides?" Zeet-Zeet chirped politely.

"Certainly. I would expect nothing less," replied Rehn.

The three settled into silence as Zeet-Zeet worked at his console. The wookie continued to stare at Rehn, and Rehn examined the paint chips, the peeling corners, the dirty walls, the moldy ceiling, the littered counters, and anything else he could think of to stare at. Just before the silence became unbearably awkward, the was a small "ping" from the console and Zeet-Zeet looked back toward Rehn.

"I am pleased to say that everything has checked out, honorable sir."

"Well, I am sure we are both glad of that," replied Rehn.

"Please wait here a moment while my associate fetches your item."

"Of course."

Zeet-Zeet made a gesture and the wookie disappeared back behind the door once again.

"Have you seen the latest in the speeder races?" Zeet-Zeet asked solicitously.

"No, I haven't."

"Oh! They are very exciting these days. The Hutts have allowed all kinds of traps now, and sometimes even the odd gigantic beast to wander through the track."

"It sounds rather barbaric."

"Oh it is! Very barbaric," Zeet-Zeet replied with more than a hint of glee. "Last week I saw two pilots smash into the side of some gigantic reptile thing. They started fighting with one another, which happens all the time, if they survive, and then, well, they noticed the monster and started fighting for their lives!" Zeet-Zeet squealed a bit. "It was sooo terrifying! I couldn't take my eyes off of it. I stopped eating my soup, and then, by the time it was all over I wasn't really hungry anymore."

"Hm."

"Well, you know how those things can go. Blood everywhere and everything. It was quite revolting."

"Hm."

"My mate won't even watch these days. She says it gives here bad dreams. Which reminds me, have you tried dream-not-drops? It's the latest thing. I hear you can get them...Ahhh here he is."

The wookie stepped through the back door. The deep silence of the room returned. He carried a small chest about the size of a child's shoe box and made of a kind of dark stained wood. He placed it on the counter. The box had no markings on it. From the way the grain interlocked from the top and bottom, it looked like it had been fashioned from a single piece of wood. On one side there was only a small clasp sculpted of the same wood. No hinge was apparent on the back. Rehn felt a solitary bead of sweat break from the back of his neck and wind it's way methodically down his spine.

When Zeet-Zeet spoke, it was like a slug-thrower blast. Rehn nearly jumped, only mastering himself at the last moment: "Well. You should open it. I don't sell things sight unseen. That's not my business. Go ahead and look at the merchandise."

Rehn didn't need to, but he knew that he must. He leaned forward and with nervous hands lifted the clasp and opened the box. There, resting on a blood red pillow was a golden, jewel encrusted arm band. It was big; too big for an average human, and looked more like costume jewelry or dress armor than anything that anyone would actually wear into combat.

"Beautiful isn't it?" said Zeet-Zeet.

"Yes," replied Rehn. No, he thought, it's just gaudy.

Rehn was starting to sweat again. He gave it one more glance, more than he should have, and let the lid fall. The clasp fell into place with a little click. Rehn reached down and picked up his valise. The wookie pushed back from the wall, standing up straight and leaning every so slightly toward Rehn, no doubt ready to tear his arms off at the least provocation. Rehn reached into his bag as his hosts tensed. Slowly he pulled out a small a datapad. He entered some information.

"I just need the information for where you would like your funds to be transfered. You may enter it here."

Zeet-Zeet took the pad and clicked in his account numbers. "Very well," said Rehn. He pushed a key on the pad. There was a soft chime. "Your account should receive the agreed upon amount now." Zeet-Zeet worked at his console once again then nodded his head, a satisfied look on his face.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you, honorable Zeet-Zeet." Rehn extended his hand.

"And with you. Please inform your employer that I will keep my eye out for other items he may wish to acquire," said Zeet-Zeet taking his hand and squeezing it with surprising strength.

Rehn made a half-turn as if he might extend his hand to the wookie as well, thought better of it, picked up the box and placed it in his valise. He snapped it closed, made a half bow and said, "Until next time then."

"Until next time,"replied Zeet-Zeet. Rehn turned and carefully made his way out of the labyrinthine shop.

It had cooled off noticeably as Rehn made his way back to his ship. The wind had whipped up and there was a definite taste of ozone in the air. Already the sky looked ugly and began to spit. Rehn hurried along and tried not to think about what was in his valise. Even though his clothes were starting to stick, he pulled his jacket around him to keep it from slashing around in the air. He just made it to the transit station when the sky opened up. He hoped it would not be raining so hard when he got to the landing pad. He pulled out his comlink and buzzed his ship.

"DeeVee. Get things wound up. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"As you wish," replied his pilot droid in his typical surly manner.

"Make sure you download the latest charts before we leave. I don't want to get stuck like we did on the way here."

"As you wish...master."

Rehn sighed deeply. "And get a holo-link ready. I'll want to contact the office when we get out from Nar Shadaa."

"My wish is only to serve you."

Rehn flicked off the comlink. He rubbed his eyes. He tried to ignore the valise.

After three transfers, Rehn heard his stop called. Bit by bit he twisted and raised his head through his hands, letting each finger and palm rub the length of his face. He massaged his temples a moment, picked up the valise and stood up as the transit train came to a stop and the doors opened, announcing the stop in three different languages. As he made his way through the hub along various walkways, still under the protection from the rain cascading from the sky, the crowd thinned as beings made their way to their own destinations, each one significant and mysterious.

Around a corner and another three hundred meters Rehn came to his landing bay, just as there was a flash of lightening and thunder crackled in the clouds. He was suddenly alone. His landing pad was at the end of a long corridor, and while earlier in the day there were other ships, busy with their loading and unloading, now all was quiet. Two hundred meters back he spied a lone Ithorian disappearing into a nearby passage. As Rehn entered his code to open the bay doors, a feeling of foreboding came over him. He had learned to pay attention to it.

He stepped into the large bay. Immediately he was pelted by the drenching rain. It bounced off his balding head, splashed heavily around his boots, bounced off his duster. Thunder boomed again as the heavy door closed behind him. He walked toward his ship, parked at the back of the bay.

Not half way there he froze. Three cloaked figures emerged out of the shadows. He sensed as much as saw their bi-pedal forms, one ducking out from under his ship and coming straight toward him, while the other two approached, one from the right, one from the left, moving to surround him. They were wearing black floor length robes and hoods. Front was tall and clearly in charge. Left and Right stopped a few meters away, loitering on the edges of his peripheral vision. Front walked closer and stopped.

From the depths of the dark hood he heard a raspy whisper, "Place the object on the ground and sstep away." Rehn stared at them, counting the seconds. Front took a step toward him. "Place the object on the ground and sstep away or you will ssuffer a long and painful demissse."

"Why are you talking like that?" asked Rehn, placing the valise on the ground.

"What?" Front seemed genuinely surprised. He stopped.

"Why are you talking like that? Were you injured or something? During the war? You're human aren't you?"

"What?" Front asked again.

"Look. No one needs any trouble here. I suggest you three gentle-beings just walk through those bay doors and forget you ever saw me. Just go to a club, have a good time, do some gambling and say you never saw me."

Left and Right glanced at each other and then at Front, who seemed stunned into silence. There was another thunder clap. Rehn's shoulders sagged a bit. The four of them felt the moment pass. Front began to laugh. "Your suffering will be a story told to scare children." Rehn sighed deeply.

Rehn saw Front reaching into his cloak. Rehn reached too, grabbing his blaster pistol with his left hand, he keyed the hidden stud above the trigger. As he extended his arm, Front reached out with his other hand. The blaster was ripped from Rehn's hand and snapped through the air to land in Front's hand with a firm snap.

Front's raspy voice sounded like cold death. "You foo—" The explosion was deafening. Front's hand disappeared in an expanding ball of flame, hurling him back and to the floor, setting his robe on fire. Rehn staggered. His ears were ringing. He tried to get his feet under him, and as he did, unwound the ball of power that was curled up and spinning deep inside of him. It unwrapped and reached out, flooding the room, making every part of it come alive to him. He sensed Left leaping toward him, a red, glowing blade above its head, ready to come down for a quick kill. Right was leaping back up from the ground and grabbing inside his own cloak. Rehn turned toward Right, extended his left hand behind him, soaking up the Force into his fore-arm like a sponge, amplifying it, and then focusing it in a blast at Left, catching the body in mid-air and throwing it backward thirty meters across the landing pad. In the same movement he reached behind his back, his right hand closing on the leather wrapped cylinder attached horizontally to his belt at the small of his back. He drew his light saber and ignited it, it's dark blue blade shimmering like a living thing.

He leaped at Right, exchanging a few quick attacks and ripostes, high, left, right, right again. He took a step back opening his stance, luring Right in. He blocked the clumsy attack at his legs and kicked out catching Right just below his throat. Not damaging, but distracting. He made a feint high and on the right, then raised his blade as if to come around and attack the left. Right over committed just enough that when Rehn came back, it was too slow and Rehn slashed deep into Right's side, cutting his arm off above the elbow and opening his chest to the rain. Right's saber clattered to ground, deactivated and silent.

Left was back up, running at Rehn. His opponent tried to force push him, but Rehn lifted his free hand and clouted it, catching it, folding the power around itself and sending back, stunning Left. At the same moment he hurled his blade, spinning it across the intervening space and impaling Left through the chest,. He reached out with the force, drawing the light saber back into his hand. Left jerked back, the hood falling back to expose a Zabrak, her beautiful face tattooed in intricate designs. She fell to her knees, then pitched forward and was quiet.

Rehn deactivated his light saber, sliding it back into its strap at the small of his back and wiping the rain off of his face, pinching his nose between his eyes. He had picked up the valise and once again walked toward his ship when he was hit by a hurtling dreadnought of light and pain. Rehn flew, screaming, across the bay, landing hard on his back, ringing his head on the metallic floor like the clapper of a bell.

"It is unwise to sheath your blade before the fight is over," said the raspy voice. Again the dreadnought slammed into him as purple and blue electrical arcs licked up his neck and face. The dark figure of Front limped out of the dark near his ship and into the light, the left side of his face and torso an exposed horror of burned and torn meat. His cheek had burned away exposing white teeth and bleeding gums; his left eye was destroyed. Rehn grimaced and Front grinned, extending his right hand and what remained of the left, the force-lightening hitting him again.

Rehn withdrew within himself. He drew back from the pain and found a detached place of quiet. Somewhere he heard himself crying out again, but the true Rehn focused the Force within him, forming a ball of power like a potter sculpting on the wheel. Front would take a break in a moment to focus his power and deal the death blow. He needed to be prepared.

Outside, Rehn's body twisted and convulsed and bellowed as the figure of Front moved closer, pouring power into the very cells of Rehn's nerves and heat into his skin. His body shook and began to rise from the ground when Front suddenly stopped. Rehn's body dropped to the ground, wisps of steam rising from it in the cold rain. Rehn's body coughed a few times while Front gloated over his defeated enemy, his one good eye wide with maddness. "I hate you, Jedi," he spat. "Every last one of you." He loomed over Rehn's broken body. His whisper grew into a roar: "I will burn your bones!" he cried, extending what was left of his arms.

Rehn returned. He used the Force to speed up his movements to superhuman swiftness, grabbing his light saber, igniting it, putting it between himself and Front and bringing out the Force-barrier that he had so carefully formed a moment ago. The lightening flashed toward him, was caught by the barrier and channeled into his saber where it shrieked and popped. Rehn nearly lost it then and there, his saber leaping in his hand like a wild animal, his Force-barrier nearly collapsing, but he held on. He pushed himself to his knees, then slowly to his feet. He began to work the barrier and the saber together, reflecting the power back toward the twisted wreck of a human. The lightening began to crawl up Front's arms, but he poured the power on all the more. His expression became crazed, his ruined, bloody teeth biting at the air. Rehn fought with everything he had left. He let out a mighty roar as Front screamed, "Die Jedi!" and there was an explosion.

Rehn was knocked back and to the ground, still holding his saber, his wind gone, flat on his back. The bay was suddenly quiet. He rolled over, groaning, and crawled to his knees. He hurt to his bones. Nothing happened. He rested a moment, got to his feet. He walked warily over to the dark figure on the ground. There was nothing left but a burned and desiccated corpse. Rehn sighed deeply, walked back over to valise and picked it up. He activated the ramp of the ship. As it hissed down he muttered, "I'm getting too old for this."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Officer jr. grade Max Sleen pushed with his toes and pulled with his elbows. His shoulders were starting to ache because he could barely move them, his head was pounding as if there were a thousand miniature wookies inside it, punching their way out.

He had awoken to the sound of the medic's voice speaking in that loud, maternal, disconnected voice that all medics use. "Officer Sleen? Officer Sleen? Can you hear me?" How could someone sound so nurturing and so cold at the same time, as if they were a tourist talking to someone who didn't know Basic? "Officer Sleen? You've suffered a concussion. I've given you some kolto and a shot of Nextal which will keep you from suffering any permanent injury. Officer Sleen? Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you. Oh blast!" Sleen had tried to sit up.

"Just lie still for a moment, Officer. Let the Nextal take effect."

"Will he be okay?"

"Of course he will," another, gruffer voice had said. "Get up Sleen. You have some explaining to do." The Mon Calamari behind that voice was their commander, Maren Drook. Despite the pain and disorientation, Sleen had felt his stomach churn. He had glanced over and saw his commander in his CSF battle uniform: starched, pressed, stiff, impeccable.

"Commander, I think the officer..." the medic had begun.

"On your feet!" boomed Drook's voice, echoing in the lobby.

Sleen was up and on his feet before he knew what had happened. The room lurched around him. A wave of nausea swept over him. He had felt his spine stiffen, then the floor moving toward him very fast.

Through the fog of semi-consciousness he had been able to pick up details of a discussion. Assassination. Building shut down. Holding the party goers. Taken out by someone they could only assume was the assassin. Roof access. Needed to check the vents. Drook saying he knew the perfect man. His team looking down, glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes.

Now here he was, worming his way through the ventilation system, wishing he hadn't had that second piece of cake at the party. His mind wandered. It was Breel's birthday. She'd smiled at him when he brought her that glass of fizz-juice, her finger just lingering as it touched his. Breel wasn't the prettiest girl in his unit, but she was pretty enough and seemed amenable. He was working up the nerve to invite her to a holo-vid and dinner. His minds-eye was fixed on her holding his hand during a particularly tense scene when he realized his non-fantasy hand was wet.

"Ugh." He lifted his hand and looked down at it. Blood. I've cut myself! No. Not cut. What the kriff.

Officer Sleen realized he hadn't cut himself. He realized that it wasn't his blood. He realized he had just climbed out of a pile of Bantha shit.

Rehn Tekoha walked to the front of his cargo bay. He walked up to a featureless bulkhead and reached out with the force, pushing an invisible lever built inside of the heavy, metal support. There was a click and a square meter hole appeared in the bulkhead. He took the box out of his valise, placed it inside the compartment, toggled a switch and pulled back his hand as the opening slowly closed, snapping shut, the door vanishing from sight. He stared at the invisible door a moment, bent down and picked up the valise. He walked back through the cargo bay and touched the panel.

The door slid up. DV-97 hovered at eye level, it's four red photoreceptors glowing out from its black hemi-spherical body. It looked like a demon's bowl turned upside down, a cryptic jungle of instruments, antennae, and tools dangling from it's underside. It almost seemed to be looking over Rehn's shoulder into the cargo bay, "The holo-link you requested is ready, master. We will be ready to make contact once we leave the system. We wouldn't want the Hutts...or anyone else...listening in."

"Mm. Thank you, DeeVee. Download the latest navigational information and take us into orbit." His head was still throbbing. It was difficult to breath.

"Of course." DeeVee retreated slightly, spun slowly in the air and floated down the green-gray corridor. I should really get a new droid, thought Rehn, not for the first time. But DeeVee was an excellent pilot and did what it was told. He followed a few paces behind, turning into his quarters on the right. The quarters were roomy, since he was the only one who ever stayed on the ship. Painted with blues and greens, there was a bed at the far end of the room, a large closet, refresher and meditation cushion. Nearer the door a desk and work area. He placed the valise next to the desk, tossed his ident card on top of it, removed his jacket and threw it over the chair. He grabbed a few pain killers from a bottle in the refresher then walked back into the corridor.

The original HE-400 "Ketch" was an all purpose small transport. Not big enough for freight, but bigger than a shuttle, an unremarkable ship. Rehn had his modified, giving him a large living area for long journeys. There was another guest room across the corridor, smaller, but still spacious. In a pinch he could accommodate a few passengers. Part of the room could also be closed off and used as a brig, something he had done once or twice.

He felt the ship rise into the air, turned and walked toward the con. Medical/research lab on the right, communications/computer room on the left. Up a short ramp and he was greeted with a view of the squalid skyscrapers of Nar Shaada speeding past. DeeVee was plugged into the droid interface on the left; Rehn walked over and sat down on the right, glancing at the engineering and gunnery readouts. The ship was not particularly fast, not in this medium, but rose up and into the starry black of outer-space without difficulty.

The space lanes around Nar-Shaada were flooded with traffic. Huge bulk freighters, some with fighter escort, smaller freighters, shuttles, space liners, mining ships, pleasure craft, all wove around each other in complex patterns. Rehn picked out the odd warship, including a Republic Hammerhead cruiser.

"Look at that," Rehn muttered, almost to himself. "Never thought I would ever see a Hammerhead orbiting Nar-Shaada."

"A sign of things to come?"

"Mm. Let's go."

"Waiting on you, master."

The stars elongated and spread out, the familiar smear of hyperspace light filling the field of view. This is where the ship really shone. It was fast in hyperspace. Really fast; and it had a navicomputer that could calculate a jump in almost half the time as most ships.

"We'll be out of the system in just a minute, master."

"Fine," replied Rehn. He got out of the seat and walked back the short distance to the communication and computer room. The large holo display dominated the center of the room, computer consoles and indecipherable readouts lining the walls. Rehn checked the display and entered his personal encryption code. He felt a dull lurch as the ship dropped out of hyperspace into the dark, silent expanse between stars. He pushed the modestly flashing button on the console.

Five seconds later a hooded figure shimmered into existence above the holo display. "Master Lamar," Rehn addressed the ghostly figure.

"Master Tekhoa. Well, I'm looking at you so I reckon you were successful."

"Successful. However there was resistance. I was attacked by three Sith as I returned to my ship. One was very powerful."

"I see you still have your arms and legs. Were you injured?"

"Nothing that kolto and a good night's rest won't take care of."

"Good," he said, smiling. "I'm afraid we lost Ro'zhal, last week. She was ambushed as well and we lost the item."

Rehn looked down. "Mm."

"Mm indeed. I believe someone has cracked our financial operation. We'll need to open new shell companies, setup trades. Master Lo will be busy for weeks. In the mean time, I want you to return to Coruscant. I'll meet you there. Something has come up that I would like you to look into."

"Oh?"

"Yes. A Gran researcher has been killed. Professional job. We'll discuss the details when you arrive."

"And the artifact?"

"Bring it to Coruscant. The Masters here will destroy it completely."

"Very well. I'll see you on Coruscant."

"On Coruscant." Vrook Lamar's image leaned forward and then winked into nothing. Rehn looked at the holo display a long minute. He turned and walked back to the conn.

"Set a course for Coruscant, DeeVee, we're headed back to the temple. And let's go ahead and change our transponder again. Make it the official, Jedi one."

"Yes, master. Transponder set to Fate's Eclipse." The stars swerved around the cockpit as DeeVee set the ship on course. There was a pause. For a second the ship seemed to hang in nothingness, sundered from the rest of the universe, and then the stars became streaks once again as the ship entered hyperspace.

"I'm going in the back. I need some kolto, a shower and some rest."

Rehn walked down the ramp, down the corridor and into this room. He pulled off his boots and threw them in a corner. He sat down on the bed and pulled his socks off and stood, his naked soles on the cool carpet, trying to roll the hurt out of his shoulders. He unclipped his belt hanging it in the closet and placed his lightsaber in a metal lock box on his desk. He took off his pants and shirt and dropped them in the laundry. Naked, he looked at himself in the mirror. The burns were red and angry. His torso and arms especially looked swollen and blistered. He stepped into the shower, turned on the cold water and let it wash the worst of the Nar Shaada grime and sweat off. The cold water felt good, cooling his hot skin. He turned the water off and padded down to the console and medical bed in the lab. He pulled up a kolto treatment on the screen, made a few adjustments, laid down on the gurney. Medical instruments snaked out of the nearby panel and Rehn Tekoha fell into a deep sleep.

"You will release the lockdown and let my ship take off this instant!"

"I will do not such thing!"

The Duro was beside himself with rage and impotence, little droplets of spit had gathered at the folds of his lips. He seethed, "This is the end of you, Drook! I will end you!"

"The assassin will not escape, not while I am charge, not while I can stop her!" He slammed his fist down on the console, deactivating the holo transmision.

Sleen had jumped at the bang. He was diligently not looking toward his commanding officer. He glanced again at Ood Thood's file. Gran. Born on Taris. Minor charges of assault, petty theft, occasional smuggling. Ood had been clean for the last ten years.

He looked at the report he had just brought up. The piece of paper that had saved him. Human. Female. Late twenties. Dark hair. Pale skin. Blue eyes. No record of the assassin in any database. Not surprising. Had probably hired a slicer to pull any previous records.

The report was good. They had a good description and her genes. If someone made a stop, they'd be able to make an ID – unless the assassin had found a way to change her DNA. The lock down would keep her from leaving this sector.

Sleen dared a glance toward Drook. His large, bulbous eyes were fixed on a holo-frame on his desk. The female Mon-calamari looked up from the datapad she was reading, a slight, domestic smile appeared her face. Drook clenched his fist, then looked up at Sleen, who caught himself staring.

A red light lit up on Drook's console followed by a sharp tone. He slapped the indicator. Sleen realized he had been holding his breath.

"Commander Drook, the docking authority is reporting a disturbance at private starship docking wheel 37. Apparently someone was trying to get into one of the docking bays."

Drook grabbed his hat, threw on his coat and picked up his belt with its blaster. "Get a speeder ready, boy. You're driving." Sleen felt a weight slide from his shoulders as he left the office.

Moments later Drook was tapping the arm rest of the air speeder as it cut through the ever present Coruscant traffic, siren and lights going.

"You think it's her?" asked Sleen.

"I don't know," replied Drook.

"I hope it is."

Drook looked at him at of the corner of his eye.

"Just – well I hope we get her."

"Well, so do I."

"Just, we," Sleen stuttered. "We all know the regent was pretty pissed."

"You do, do you."

"Well, we heard the yelling out in the squad room. We, uh, we want you to know we're behind you one hundred per cent."

"Thank you officer."

They road in silence.

"It's just..." Sleen started again, "we know things with your wife," Drook stiffened. Sleen stuttered.

"Shut the kriff up, now boy."

"Sorry, sir," stumbled Sleen.

"I said, shut the kriff up."

Sleen was going to say, "yes, sir," caught the look on the commander's face and kept his eyes on the air lane in front of him.

Sixty seconds later their air speeder slid down to docking wheel 37. There was a unit of Corusec Special Squad and a Customs Officer milling one of the large landing bay doors. There was a score mark on the door. Drook jumped out of the air speeder and motioned Sleen to stay put.

"Looks like someone took a shot," said Drook as he strode up to the cluster of uniforms.

"Yes, sir," answered the lead of the Special Squad, "we were just getting a report from Officer Kehl here."

Kehl stepped forward. She was dressed in a custom's officer uniform, hat pulled down on her head, blaster slung at her side. She had an tough, awkward, gangly air, like she wasn't quite comfortable in her skin, but would take on a Wookie if she had too. She spoke out from under her cap.

"I was walking my patrol when I saw a perp down the corridor playing around by the door. Course with a lock down, that made me pretty suspicious. I identified myself as a customs agent, ordered them to halt and identify themselves. They ignored me. I drew my blaster and told them to stop. They went for a gun; I fired a warning shot here," she indicated the blaster scar. "They shot back. I dove into an alcove. When I looked back, they were gone."

"Did you get a good look," asked Drook.

"No, sir. They were a ways down the corridor. Human female. Dark hair. Medium build. Seemed to know what they were doing."

"All right. Thank you officer," said Drook.

Drook turned to the Corsec Special Agent. "Okay. Lieutenant," he looked at the Rodian's uniform, "Fleenu. I want you to take your squad and fan out. Search this docking wheel top to bottom. Every nook and cranny. I don't believe she'll go far. She needs that ship." He took out his comlink as Fleenu spoke quietly with his team, gesturing in different directions. "Korl. This is Commander Drook. I need two more squads at landing wheel 37 immediately. I want them armed and armored. Bring a couple of high-res scanners too. I also want to lock down this wheel for three full blocks above and below and on each side, every means of egress locked down. There's a place to set up a command center on the next level, bring what we need."

"On it," the voice replied.

"Commander?" It was Officer Kehl.

"Yes, officer."

"I should really inspect this landing bay, see what's' there. It is my jurisdiction."

Drook paused. "Makes sense."

He walked up to the door controls and entered his personal authorization. "I want you to take one of my men. He turned to the air car, "Sleen! Get over here." Sleen jumped out of the car and walked over to Drook, anxious to make up for the the bungled drive over.

Drook walked over to the air car, meeting Sleen half-way. "I want you to stick with that customs officer. Her name is Kehl. Learn what you can and watch her. She might be able to teach you a few things."

Sleen looked over Drook's shoulder. He saw the woman, her body dwarfed by the gigantic bay door as it raised into the ceiling. She took a step through.

"Yes, sir." He paused. "Sir, about earlier...I"

"Shut the krif up, Sleen, and get to work."

Sleen ran off as Drook turned, stepped into the air speeder and ascended to the next level.

Sleen jogged toward the open bay door. "Hey wait up," he called after Kehl as he saw her step off to the left and out of sight. He came to a stumbling stop as he entered the landing bay. The ship was black. To Sleen it did not so much seem to rest on its landing gear,as to lurk, as if at any moment it would come alive and set him of fire from the inside out. He knew it was foolish to judge a ship by its appearance, but he couldn't help it. It was a demon ship: speed; stealth; danger; death. He had no doubt it had taken many lives and that each life fed it's dark power.

He closed his mouth, realizing he must have looked brain dead and searched around for the customs officer. She was over in a corner, leaning over a group of small containers. He heard the bay door closing as he walked over. There was something familiar about her. What was her name? Ken? Kess? Kehl. That was it. Did he know a Kehl?

As he came close, Kehl straightened up. She turned and faced him. "You?" Sleen said. "What are you doing..." He never finished his question.


End file.
